Brent, Male, 34

	- Narrator, father of Orchid, Dahlia's fiance

	- Tan white skin, 5'10, 175lbs, shoulder-length curly brown hair

Orchid, Female, 13

	- Daughter of Brent

	- Pale white skin, 5'9, 145lbs, mid-back length nearly-black hair

Dahlia, Female, 36

	- Mother of Lily, Brent's fiance, 18 weeks pregnant

	- Tan white skin, 5'9, 155lbs, 38D breasts, shoulder-length wavy brown hair, green eyes

Lily (Lilian), Female, 10

	- Daughter of Dahlia

	- Dark-tan skin, 4'7, 70lbs, mid-back wavy brown hair, dark eyes, Native American features

Maria, Female, 19

	- Granddaughter of Gramma, 18 weeks pregnant

	- Mocha-brown skin, Latina, 5'8, 150lbs, shoulder-length dark-brown silky hair

Gramma (Maria), Female, 60s

	- Owner of Maria's Guest House, grandmother of Maria

	- Bronzed-brown skin, Latina, 5'4, 105lbs, wavy dark-brown hair

Decemberfest in Lynchburg has long been one of my favorite street fairs to attend. I went less often when it was just me, but I'd taken Orchid when she was very young, and I'd gone a time or two with friends. It had a down-home feel, lots of local crafters and artisans, as well as makers of wine and jams and smoked meats of all varieties, all made in the Shenandoah Valley or parts nearby. On top of all the local offerings, there were a few rides, typical carnival food and game vendors, as well as concerts set up on two different stages.

I walked hand-in-hand with Dahlia, she eating corn-on-the-cob which had been roasted and buttered, while I munched on green beans which had been floured and fried in oil. The girls chatted excitedly some distance ahead of us, occasionally running off to play a game or grab a snack.

Maria was in better spirits, and I think getting out of the house and doing something new together helped a lot. I expected we'd have to keep an eye on the way cabin fever can creep up on you when you live at such a distance from other people and regular conveniences. Sure, I loved the house, and I had totally fallen in love with our little piece of paradise, somewhere I'd dreamed of living but never really thought I might see so soon. But being to ourselves too often and without an occasional excursion was probably not good for any of us, and the trip to Lynchburg made it clear how much we all still needed to be part of society, at least some times.

Dahlia and I stopped to talk with a woman who made walking sticks. When Dahlia mentioned that she was pregnant, the woman perked up and showed her a few of the one's she'd designed for just such a person. We bought two, one each for Dahlia and Maria, with a promise that they'd help out during hikes on our property as the women's pregnancies began to wear them down and make walks more difficult on their feet.

Orchid dashed back to me holding a bag of her favorite candies, old-fashioned root-beer drops, and offered us some. Dahlia declined, still eating her corn, but I indulged and soon had the sweet candy slowly-dissolving on my tongue.

Dahlia needed to pee, so we slipped over to one of the long rows of portable toilets. There was no line, and, finding one with a dial reading 'Available,' Dahlia grabbed the handle and slung the door open. She stopped short of entering and I glanced up. What I saw was a girl, perhaps Orchid's age, standing with her knees spread, her shorts pulled down to her lower thighs, trying desperately to remove her hand from her panties. The girl looked horrified, but Dahlia just laughed gently and said that she would find another stall, telling the teen there was nothing to be worried about, and closed the door, hiding the mortified girl inside.

“I'd say that's not something you see every day,” Dahlia said quietly to me as we moved to the next available toilet, “but you and I are lucky enough to see that and so much more, pretty much every day.”

I chuckled my agreement as Dahlia slipped into an unoccupied stall.

Later, the five of us watched a satirical minstrel show which made fun of all the Valley stereotypes with well-received humor, then walked down to the stage on the south-end of the festival where a local neo-bluegrass band was hammering away at fiddles and banjos and an upright bass. We bought cherry-lemonade and ate ice cream dots, sausage dogs, and carny fries. By the time the sun went down and we eventually made our way back home, we were all full and worn out, in a good way. At least for a few hours, we'd all had our spirits lifted and the sad thoughts about Gramma had been pushed down and out of awareness.

- - -

The phone rang a little after four in the night, and I rolled over to pick it up before Dahlia stirred.

“Hello...?”

“Hi... Uh... This is Madeline Kutcher from the Lower Keys Medical Center. I'm trying to reach Maria Santino.”

“Maria... Maria is sleeping,” I said quietly, my stomach sinking. “I'm Brent. Is this about Maria's grandmother?”

“Yes. Are you Ms. Santino's husband?”

“No, uh, Maria's living with me and my fiance.”

“Ah. I need to speak to Ms. Santino, please.”

“Is there anyway you can tell me? Maria is sleeping, and... I don't expect this is good news.”

“Sorry, Brent, I'm not authorized...” It was clear that Kutcher was not able to discuss the details with me, and I slowly slid out of bed after asking the woman to wait, setting the phone on my night stand and checking to make sure Dahlia was still sleeping.

I crept to Maria's bedroom and opened the door slowly. The room's nightlight showed that Maria was sleeping, her arm over Orchid's body. I hated so much to wake her from that peace.

“Maria...” I spoke softly near her ear. “Maria...”

“Mmmhhwhhat?” she groaned, barely moving.

“I'm afraid there's a call for you... from Key West.”

There was a slight hesitation, then Maria turned back at me, “Gramma?”

“I don't know anything at this point, they wouldn't tell me,” I replied, stroking Maria's hair.

She slipped from the bed and went to pick up the phone in the upper library. “Hello?”

I could only hear one side of the conversation, but it wasn't too difficult to follow.

Maria continued, “yes, I'm her granddaughter. What's wrong?” She listened for a few seconds, then asked weakly, “is she awake?” More listening. “How long does she have?” She started to cry and I wrapped my arm around her shoulder, closer to the phone and now able to make out the other end of the call.

“... as much as we'd like to give you an accurate answer, we don't know. Right now, she's comfortable,” Kutcher's voice said through the phone, “and she is stable. Are you aware of your grandmother's health to this point?”

“Mostly, yes,” Maria said as she cried slowly.

“Then you know this may be the final time she comes to stay with us...”

Maria didn't respond but continued to cry. It broke my heart. I knew this conversation would happen within weeks, but having it take place so soon and in the middle of the night made it even more crushing.

“I'll come immediately,” Maria told Kutcher. “Please... please keep her alive until I can see her.”

“We'll give her the best care we can, Ms. Santino, you can count on that. She has laid out her living will quite specifically, as I'm sure you're aware, so we must follow it.”

“What do you mean?” Maria burst out loudly, “what do you mean?!”

“Just that your grandmother has requested no tubes, no machines beyond fluids and medications, and no resussitation should she become unresponsive.”

Maria cried harder. I heard Kutcher ask if she was still there a couple of times, then I took the phone from Maria, letting the teen sink onto a chair and walking down the hall and said, “Ms. Kutcher, this is Brent again. Thanks for telling us. Maria's taking this very hard. I'll get her on a flight as soon as possible. How likely is it that her grandmother will be able to... to talk to her if she gets there today?”

Kutcher replied, “hard to say, of course. Like I told Maria, she's stable, but she's in the final stages of her illness. Well, illnesses. It could be very rapid very soon.”

“Thank you... Who is with her? Is she alone?”

“A close friend is staying with her for now, a man named Tito.”

“Ah, good,” I replied quickly. “Thank you again. We'll be down as quickly as possible.”

“Safe travels, Brent,” Kutcher said, and the line went dead.

I returned quickly to Maria. She was curled up in the chair, sobbing quietly against a small pillow.

“Maria,” I said gently, “we have a mission today. You need to get to Key West to see Gramma, and I need your help to make it happen. Do you want to go? Can you help me get you there?”

“Go with me,” Maria said plaintively, “please.”

“I will. First, though, I need you to pack. We might be able to get out early this morning, so go get a bag together while I find tickets.”

“Can Orchid come with us?”

“If I can find seats, yes.”

“Okay. I need her, too, Brent...”

“I know. She'll want to be with you. Shall I wake her and let her know what's going on?”

Maria shook her head and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. Her beautiful, dark eyes were clouded and red. “I will do it.”

She headed back to her bedroom, and I felt sorrow knowing my daughter would soon be hurting for Maria as I was. I woke Dahlia and let her know what was happening.

“Do you want to go, as well?” I asked.

Dahlia looked at me a moment, then shook her head. “I think at least one of us should stay here. We're expecting deliveries this week, and I have a doctor's appointment on Monday. Lily can stay here, as well. You and Orchid go and keep her comfortable.”

“We will.”

“It's almost like Gramma hung on long enough to come visit Maria one last time,” Dahlia said sadly. “This is all terribly unfair... but at least Maria had that week with her here.”

I nodded, “at least there's that.” I checked the clock and said, “I should start looking for tickets. Last minute on a Sunday might be tough.”

- - -

Maria, Orchid, and I sat in a terminal in Atlanta a few hours later. I'd managed to find three seats down to Key West with a relatively short layover in the large Georgia airport. Our flight had started boarding, but only the top fliers and first class had been called. I'd just gotten off a call with the hospital in Key West. Gramma was still holding on, had been awake and talkative moments before, so there was some optimism that she would make it until we could arrive. “Don't expect miracles, though,” Gramma's nurse had told me, “she's quickly going downhill.”

I passed on the optimistic parts of that conversation to Maria and Orchid, leaving out the more depressing reminder.

Orchid had not left Maria's side the entire day, holding her hand, stroking her hair. Despite the sadness of the day, I still smiled and felt warm to see my daughter act with such compassionate kindness. Orchid had always been a soft-hearted kid, and I was glad to see that, so far, the world hadn't beaten that out of her. She loved Maria in a very mature way. She gave support wherever she could, and I knew it was helping in a way that, perhaps, I could not. I loved Maria, too, deeply. But there was something about Orchid's soft hands, the way she spoke kind words in a gentle voice, that made her such a wonderful partner in terrible moments.

We finally boarded and we let Maria have the aisle so that she could excuse herself to cry in the bathroom as she had on the first leg. Orchid took the middle, and I leaned against the window, letting my daughter snuggle against me. Maria leaned in and wrapped an arm around us both after takeoff, and the rest of the flight the three of us did little more than close our eyes, share comforting touches, and cast wishes to no one in particular that Gramma could hold on long enough for Maria to say goodbye.

- - -

She was asleep when we arrived, and the nurses said she had not been awake since before noon. As it was already after dark on the short December day, and we had yet to eat a bite, I left the girls in the sitting area near the nurses station, and went downstairs to find some food.

I picked up a sack of soft tacos and bought a cooler, a bag of ice, and root beer to bring up. I passed out the tacos and offered each a soda, taking one for myself. Orchid and I ate slowly but steadily, the sadness not wholly destroying our appetites. Maria picked at hers with her fingers, barely halfway through her first taco as Orchid and I finished our second.

A nurse popped her head around the corner and said, “she's awake if you'd like to see her. She may be a little confused. That's normal,” she added when we didn't reply, “just be patient with her.”

I put our food in the cooler and pushed it against the wall, then we followed the nurse to Gramma's room.

The light was on inside and a nurse's assistant was taking Gramma's blood pressure. The assistant looked up, “ah, there she is, Ms. Rosa, your granddaughter is here.”

Gramma's eyes lit up, though a bit droopy, “Maria?” Gramma glanced and tried to lean forward but did little more than lift her head. “Maria?”

“I'm here, Gramma!” Maria moved quickly to the side of the bed and took her grandmother's hand. “I'm here.”

Gramma grasped Maria's hand with both of hers, shaking with the effort. “Mi amor, nieta dulce.”

Orchid and I shifted around to the side of the bed and Gramma tilted her head, “and who else?”

“Hi Gramma, it's Brent, and Orchid is with us, too.”

“Ah, wonderful. Wonderful,” Gramma rasped, turning back to Maria, “Mi nieta dulce. I am so happy to see you now.”

“We came as quickly as we could Gramma...,” Maria said softly, tears dried and her calm, caring expression making her seem older than her years. “Can... can we get you anything?”

“No, dear.” Gramma said very weakly, her words little more than rattling in her throat. “I am comfortable. And you have come. That is everything I can ask for, and more than I deserve.”

“Nonsense, Gramma,” Maria replied, “you deserve the best.”

“You being here, that is the best. Nothing better.”

I turned away while the two talked quietly, and I realized a man had come into the room. He was somewhere near Gramma's age, overdressed for visiting someone in the hospital, wearing a dark suit and light-blue tie. I raised my head to acknowledge him and he walked over and shook my hand.

“Tito,” he whispered, “you must be Brent. The nurses told me you were bringing young Maria down as soon as possible. Nice to meet you.”

“You as well,” I answered quietly, “how do you know Gram—err, the elder Maria?”

“I've known her for many years. I've been managing the guest house for her for several months.”

“Ah,” I recalled the conversation with Gramma about hiring a man to run Maria's while she was ill, “yes, we have some things to talk about.” I glanced to where Maria and her grandmother were still talking quietly, “Care to step out a moment?”

“Gladly. I'd like to have a smoke, if you don't mind,” he added.

“I'll follow you.”

We left the room and went outside the facility to the sidewalk, where Tito pulled out a lighter and a pack of smokes, taking one. He offered me a cigarette.

I shook my head, “no, thanks. Not in many years.”

Tito nodded, lit his smoke, then said, “Maria has told you of our arrangement, yes? For Maria's?”

I replied, “she has. You're managing the place through this... transition, and then it is up to the younger Maria to decide what to do next.”

“Aye. I'm happy to stay on and continue to manage things for the next few months.” Tito took a drag, then continued, “but I'm getting at the end of my run, Brent. A few months, another year, I can see staying on for that. But beyond... I plan to retire after that.”

“I think Maria will find that more than reasonable, of course. Once she has time to... grieve.”

“Naturally,” Tito said quietly. “Rosa is a good woman... I will miss her.”

“Rosa... I heard the aide call her that. Why Rosa?”

“Her middle name. She used to go by Rosa often, but many also know her as Maria, or Ms. Maria to others. Or Gramma to the younger Maria. I still think of her as Rosa.”

I nodded but didn't respond for a moment. Tito took a couple of more pulls on his cigarette, then used his foot to put out the smoking butt. He looked at me and said, “it won't be long, I think. The nurses think it is unlikely she'll make it through the night, but you never know.”

“We should go see her while we can, then,” I replied.

- - -

“I wish... to speak... to Brent... a moment,” the elder Maria rasped to the room, “alone.”

Maria and Orchid looked at me briefly before heading towards the door, followed by Tito. He closed it behind them. I leaned over the bed and took Gramma's hand.

“Brent,” she said quietly, “you promised me once... to care for my granddaughter... I wish you to promise this again...”

“With all my heart, Gramma. I will do everything for her, and our child.”

She made a small movement I took as a nod.

“There is... something... I've kept for... Maria... Tito will give it... to you... when this... is over...”

“Okay...” I responded.

“When the grief has passed,” Gramma continued, “I wish... you to... give it to... Maria...”

“What is it?”

“Notebooks... photos... a diary... they contain... truths about... her parents... that she should know,” Gramma coughed her last words and tried to clear her throat. “Wait... until it is time... You may read them... to understand things... but only... give them to Maria... when the time is right... you will understand...”

I nodded and squeezed Gramma's hand tight. “I promise, I will.”

Her eyes steadied a moment, and despite her rapidly-declining condition, there was still a sparkle there that held my attention. “I'm glad... we shared... each other... Brent... I enjoyed that night... with you... Be sure... you share... many wonderful nights... with Maria... and the others... in your life... do not take... anything... for granted... Cherish them all...”

I found myself tearing up, and was unable to reply.

Gramma managed a small smile, “do not feel sorrow for me... Brent... I have lived... a full... and wonderful life... and it is complete... knowing my Maria... is loved... I can find peace... in what remains... in this life... and look forward... to the next... without regrets...”

I tried to hold back my tears and found myself slowly crying while I tightened my grip on Gramma's hand.

“Do not feel sorrow for me... Brent,” she repeated.

“I won't. I don't,” I offered, “but I hurt for Maria, to know how much this hurts her...”

She managed a small smile again, “and that is why... I know... you will keep your promise.”

- - -

I wasn't in the room when Gramma slipped under for the final time and didn't regain consciousness again. Maria wished to stay by her side, and Orchid did as well. Early Monday morning, as I sat dozing in the sitting area, I saw the call light go off, and heard Orchid's voice say they needed someone to come in. I knew what that meant.

I followed the nurse into the room, and it was clear Gramma had died. Her face was frozen, no movement in her chest, and her skin took on that light, pale coloring which signaled that blood was no longer flowing. Maria was sobbing quietly against Orchid's chest on the small couch along the wall, and I embraced them both as I heard the nurses and technicians began to do what they must when a patient has died.

A doctor came by shortly to officially record the time and manner of death, and through our grief, the nurses kindly guided us through what happened now. Tito returned from his home after I called him and joined us as we sat huddled in the cafeteria downstairs while sunlight drew up over the east end of the island.

There wasn't really much to do. Tito had already arranged to have a funeral home pick up the body and he offered to go there to identify Gramma as the last step in the process. He also offered to contact the person willing to bring together the celebration Gramma had requested in lieu of a funeral. Maria was in no shape to do more than feel dreadful, and I was glad Tito was able and willing to take charge while the teens and I grieved.

We returned to the guest house and I called Dahlia to let her know. She cried with me for a while, then had to get herself off to the doctor's office for a checkup. I let her know things were still up in the air, and I wasn't certain when we'd return. She wanted to fly herself and Lily down for the celebration, but beyond that, we made no other plans. Her sister, niece, and nephew were still coming in on December 23rd, two weeks away, but that seemed so far off that we didn't even discuss whether we should postpone their visit.

The three of us crashed on the king-sized bed, and much of the rest of the day was lost to sorrowful slumber.

- - -

My phone rang a little after six that evening as I sat out by the pool drinking coffee. Tito had not returned, likely sleeping, I expected, but his assistant, Atulia, was running the desk and taking care of guests. She brought me a fresh cup of coffee as I answered my phone, offering me a knowing, gentle smile, the young woman likely no older than Maria.

“Hello?”

“Hi, yes, this is Addison Harris. I'm trying to reach Maria Santino. Is this the right number?”

“Yes, uh, Maria is sleeping... it's been a rough day...”

“I understand. With whom am I speaking?” the deep male voice continued.

“This is Brent. Maria and I are... together.” It was an awkward moment. I didn't know exactly how to describe things. Maria was my girlfriend, but that didn't feel right to say out of the blue given that I also had a fiance. She was my lover, the soon-to-be mother of my child, but how would I convey that? “Is this something I can help with?”

“I represent the law firm Nelson and Venturi. We have received word of the death of Ms. Santino's grandmother earlier today, and we are responsible for the estate. Are you in the Keys currently?”

“Yes, Maria and I flew down yesterday.”

“Excellent. We need Ms. Santino to come by our office in the next few days to go over the will and the estate. Ms. Santino is the executor.”

“Okay... Listen,” I said, “ Maria's in no state right now...”

“Not a problem. There is no rush at this time. Just in the next few days would be fine. We need her to sign a few documents, and we need to get her a list of things she'll need to do. No rush, though. Just have Maria, or someone speaking for her, call our office and make an appointment.”

The man read out his number and offered condolences in a formal, distant tone, then thanked me and hung up.

I forgot how clinical things were after a death. The paperwork, the will, arranging for caskets and funerals and so many other mundane, necessary tasks that made the grieving process even more complicated than it needed to be. I hoped I could handle at least some of the tasks for Maria, and I was thankful that Tito had already assumed a great deal of that burden.

I finished my coffee and came back to our room. At the door, I paused, hearing low moans. I listened a moment, then slowly stepped inside. Maria was on her back, naked, Orchid kissing her neck and cheek, my daughter's hand between the nineteen-year old's legs, slowly caressing the girl's hairy genitals.

I watched for a moment. It wasn't the raw, lustful pawing I'd seen with the two before, nor was it the passionate, erotic coupling that they regularly shared. There was a kindness to Orchid's movements, slow and calming, almost as if petting a horse's neck to calm it during an anxious moment. Maria moaned softly but looked in no hurry to orgasm. I heard Orchid whisper, “I love you, Maria.”

Maria replied, “I love you so much... ohhhh...”

I watched a moment longer, then Orchid noticed me and offered me a weak smile, her hand continuing to slowly caress Maria's pussy. I mouthed, “Can I help?”

Orchid nodded and motioned me to slide beside Maria. I did so and the nineteen-year old opened her eyes half-way. I could see how angry and red they were, and I kissed her gently, snuggling up against her body, touching her face softly and repeating Orchid's words to her.

For much of the next hour, we did nothing more than slowly, gently touch Maria's body. It was only the contact with her genitals which suggested sexuality, but it was not really sexual. I'd slide a hand over her breast and Maria would press her face against my neck. Orchid slipped a finger into her vagina, and she let out a plaintive sigh, as if caught in the middle between anguish and comfort. My daughter and I let our fingers and hands and lips soothe Maria's skin, touching her where she wished, never speeding up or pushing to bring her to orgasm.

We rested together for another hour, dozing, Orchid's head on Maria's chest, Maria's head on my shoulder. It was a lovely feeling, to bring the teen physical comfort in that moment of grief. I knew her grandmother's death was still on her mind. How could it not be? But we'd given her a gentle distraction, even if just for a moment, and it was quite fulfilling to do nothing more than hold her close and whisper our love for her from time to time.