Seconds seemed like an eternity as I sat in my chair in silence. The call had already ended, but I was still stuck in that moment.
"I'm sorry, Miss Ridley, your grandmother is dead."
Those words seemed to swirl in my head, turning into a tornado that threatened to ruin me.
"Elaine?" Mr. Patton called out, shooting me a look of concern and confusion. "Is something the matter?"
I shook my head. "I got a call. My grandma's... dead."
Patton looked stumped for a second, like he didn't know what to do or how to react. I don't blame him. He just asked if anything was the matter; I shook my head and then followed up with my grandma is dead. I must look like the textbook definition of a sociopath right now.
"You should get off work to process this loss."
It was my turn to shoot him a look of confusion. "What? I'll go home eventually. Let me finish the attribution report."
"I cannot believe you," he muttered in exasperation, but I could hear him.
"I'm not some monster, Patton. My grandmother and I were not close, but I loved her. It's not like I'm unaffected by the news. There's just a lot going on, and this is the best way for me to process it. Plus, I have to do this attribution report for you and myself. Seeing as I would be on leave for a month, I should get my pound of flesh before I leave." I tried to joke, but my delivery fell short.
"A month?"
"Yeah. My grandmother lived in Finland; it'll probably take time to settle all her business. So let me just finish this. I'll get out of your hair soon. And I'll be expecting that bonus. I need sustenance there, you know?"
So, I trade one prison—no, one struggle—for another. I leave the hustle and bustle of New York for the calm and serene yonder of Finland to mourn my absentee grandma. Though, before I do that, I have to struggle with the stress of airports and overseas travel. By the time I reach Helsinki Airport, I've already aged 0.45 times faster than I ought to.
Finland is truly beautiful. I'm pretty sure one of my childhood dreams was set in this place, but whatever. The taxi driver glanced at me from the mirror; he looked like he was itching to make small talk.
"So, you're going to Porvoo?" he asked in accented English.
Are you asking me because you think I'm slow and not sure where I want to go? is what I wanted to say, but I ended up with a hum of approval.
"Tourist?"
"God, no." I saw his offended gaze, so I continued, "I don't feel good vibes going on vacation to where my grandmother died. I'm going to a funeral."
"My condolences." He seemed apologetic. I'm not sure why he should be, but I guess that's just how things are. The ride was quiet for a while until my talkaholic driver spoke again.
"Watch for the Sininen hetki. It happens just after sunset. The snow turns blue, the sky turns blue, and everything goes still. It is the best time for thinking, but the worst time for driving. It plays tricks on the eyes."
"It must be beautiful," I commented noncommittally.
"It is. A most romantic sight, indeed... almost there."
I was grateful. The ride wasn't horrible, but forty minutes of watching a man debate whether he should talk or not is forty minutes I don't want.
"Thank you." I smiled and climbed out of the taxi after he confirmed the payment. As he drove off, I took in Vanha Porvoo. It was nothing like what I was used to. The buildings were uneven and painted in that haunting red-ochre that looked far too much like dried blood against the white snow. The sky could display all its breathtaking glory because there was no skyscraper to hide it.
The place was quiet—or maybe not. Maybe I'm just so used to the racket that is New York that a place with a normal decibel level seems too quiet to me. I pulled my luggage as I walked on the sidewalk, trying to navigate my way around. I first had to go to the hospital, and then to my grandmother's house, and then the funeral preparations would commence.
"Once again, my condolences," the doctor said as we settled in her office. I had been a bit disappointed when the hospital seemed quite familiar. Hospitals are practically the same everywhere; I don't know why I was expecting a small cobblestone building.
"Thank you. So about my grandmother... how did it happen?"
"She died in her sleep. We've checked, and there's no foul play at hand. It was her time. She was found by a neighbor a little over a day after her death."
The doctor's words faded into the background as I thought back to Granny. It hurts thinking about it. So she just died? Just like that? Life felt so cruel. My grandmother wasn't a good parent or grandparent by a long mile. She gave up my dad for adoption and only appeared once in his life when he had an accident and needed a blood transfusion. It was a tumultuous point in our lives. My dad still wanted her in our lives, even made her his legal family and all that, but she kept on disappointing him. Even until her death, my father resented her.
"So, when is the funeral?" the doctor asked me.
"A week from now. The rest of the family will be here soon."
My grandma's house was in a quiet, homely neighborhood. Children were playing in the streets and some of their parents were chatting over cups of coffee. Damn, this is really the prime child-rearing location.
I opened the door and was surprised. This didn't look like a place my granny would live in. It was too clean, too beige, too not-lived-in. It looked more like something I would live in, and believe me, my grandmother and I could not be more opposite. Maybe that was why I was the closest in the family to her—by which I mean close enough to be named her next of kin, which is a really big deal. While Granny and I didn't have anything like what other grandparents had with their grandkids, she trusted in my capabilities.
The only thing that assured me that this was indeed her place was an ashtray. Granny was a smoker. We used to joke that she moved to a cold place like Finland just to have an excuse to smoke; it's even shocking that she didn't die of lung cancer.
I smiled as the scarce but wonderful memories of my grandmother flashed through my mind. But a knock on the door broke me out of my reverie.
I walked over to open the door and was greeted by a middle-aged, old man. I say this because he carried himself like he was in his fifties—and I was certain he was in his fifties—but somehow he looked decades older than that.
"Hello?" I said, a bit nervous.
"Who are you?" He eyed me suspiciously, like I had a wrench in my hand and was trying to break into a safe.
"Elaine Ridley. I'm Madeline's granddaughter." I stretched out my hand to be polite. He took it and pulled me into a warm hug.
"My condolences. Sorry for being cold at first. I have to be on my toes because of those thieves."
"What?" I was beyond shocked.
"Well, some rebellious teenagers come in here to steal. In fact, that was how someone discovered the body, which was a shock."
I was even more confused. "What do you mean? And why didn't Grandma do anything?"
"She didn't know. The thing is, Madeline only showed up here once or twice a year. She didn't live here at all. That's why the kids stole from here; they never expected her to be home that day."
What? Granny didn't live here? Then where did she stay all that time?