Thirteen

The next morning was chaotic.

My mother had one of her migraines.

My father was tight-lipped, the way he gets when she has one of her headaches. They immobilize her. She stays in bed with the shades pulled for two or three days until the migraine goes away.

I hate it when my mother’s sick. The whole house goes topsy turvy.

“Maybe I should stay home,” I started to say. But my father thought he heard her calling and dashed away. Teddy opened his mouth, which was full of half-eaten breakfast, and pushed his face close to mine. My stomach lurched.

“Listen, cretin.” I took Teddy by the scruff of his neck and talked fast and low. “One false move and you’re dead meat. It’s out the window with you. And I don’t think I have to remind you we’re fourteen floors up, right?”

I heard my father coming back and let go of Teddy.

“She’d like a cup of tea,” my father told me.

“I’ll fix it,” I said. “You want me to stay home, Dad?”

“That won’t be necessary. Rest is what she needs. But you’d better come straight home from school to see if you can do anything for her. She may want something to eat by then. I’ve got an early meeting.” He checked his watch. “I better get going. When your mother is laid low, I expect both of you to behave. No bickering, no horsing around. Think of her, not of yourselves, please. Teddy, are you listening?”

Teddy took his finger out of his nose and stuffed it into his ear. He kind of nodded and didn’t make a peep.

Stiffly my father bent to kiss both of us.

I fixed the tea and thought about how Al stood by her mother last summer. How she gave up going to the barn dance and everything. She never complained. Never once.

The fact is, I didn’t want to stay home. Al and I had plans to swing by the health club after school to see what was up. We liked that place. It was full of oddballs, weirdos we found fascinating. A couple of blondes came in yesterday as we were leaving. They were pretty tough kahunas with big muscles and lots of makeup. I wished they’d come earlier. I would’ve loved to see them in action, but Al kept pulling on my arm, saying “Don’t wear out your welcome, kid.”

I carried the tray to my mother’s room.

“Mom,” I whispered. My mother lay with one arm over her eyes. “You want anything?”

“I’ll be fine.” Her voice sounded thin. “Just promise me you’ll be nice to Teddy. Try not to fight. Try to be friends. Please.”

I promised. Luckily Teddy and my father were gone when I went back to the kitchen. I brushed my teeth and got my books, and when I went into the hall Al was standing by the elevator, waiting for me.

“Teddy said your mother was sick,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Sure,” I said. I didn’t feel like talking.

The elevator lurched to a stop at our floor. Inside, smiling at us, were Sparky and his mom. Well, she was smiling, he wasn’t.

“Wonderful! I couldn’t have planned it better!” Sparky’s mom cried. “I just knew I’d catch you sooner or later!”

The sound of her voice gave me a headache. I wasn’t up for polite conversation. We rode in silence. I heard Sparky grunting at me but pretended he wasn’t there. One false move from Sparky, I decided, and he’d be dead meat, just like Teddy.

“Sixish on Saturday, girls!” Sparky’s mom cried as we crash-landed in the lobby. “Just wear anything!” and she and the mutt sailed out into the street.

“She doesn’t know it,” Al muttered, “but that’s what I was planning on wearing. We didn’t say we’d go to her party, did we?”

“I didn’t,” I said. “I don’t know about you.”

“Well, she expects us. We don’t want to hurt her feelings,” Al said.

“She’d never notice if we did,” I said.

Usually Al walks fast and I trail behind. Today, I was in the lead and she was behind.

“I feel like a million bucks,” Al said. “I sweated like a pig yesterday. I guess that’s why.”

“Pigs don’t sweat,” I said.

“Actually, man is the only animal that sweats,” Al said. “That’s why deodorants were invented.”

“I have to go straight home after school,” I said. “My mother has one of her migraines. I promised my father I would.”

“That’s O.K. We can swing by the health club tomorrow,” Al said. “No sweat.”

“You sure have sweat on the brain today,” I said.

Al looked at me but didn’t say anything. I guess I could be in the pits as much as she could if I felt like it.

When we went into our homeroom Ms. Bolton was at her desk wearing her usual baggy duds. Plus her red tights. I felt as if I’d imagined yesterday.

But no. “Thanks a million for yesterday,” she said to Al and me. “It was wonderful. I can’t tell you how much it raised my spirits to work out again. I’m trying to figure out how I can afford to sign up at the health club for six months. Maybe if I give up eating, I can swing it.” She laughed and, although it was an effort, so did I.

After last bell rang, I got my stuff together.

“You go without me,” I told Al. “Say hello to Big Al for me.”

She shook her head. “I’m going home, too,” she said. “Maybe I can sit with your mother in case you have to go to the store or anything. Maybe I could read to her or something. Maybe she’d like me to read the paper to her if she doesn’t know what went on today.”

“Chances are not only does she not know, but doesn’t give a darn,” I said. But I was glad Al was coming with me instead of going to Big Al’s.

We let ourselves into my apartment. I put my books on the hall table and said, “I’ll just go and see …”

A man came out of the living room.

We both jumped.

It was my grandfather. He said, “Hello, darling,” to me. Then he saw Al and said, “How’s my gal Al?”

My grandfather often calls me darling. But when he said that to Al, she turned beet red with pleasure. Al doesn’t have a grandfather. She thinks mine is the best. For her birthday he gave her a book by Ring Lardner called I Know You, Al. This book was very famous in its day. Al loves it.

“What are you doing here?” I asked my grandfather.

“Looking after your mother,” he said. “Your father called me to let me know she was under the weather. I thought I might be of some help. She’s asleep now. I look in on her now and then. Now that you’re home, I’ll take myself off.”

My grandfather is extremely handsome. He’s a young sixty-six. That’s an oxymoron, which means a contradiction in terms. I looked it up. How can anyone sixty-six be young? It’s possible. He asked Al’s mother out on a date a while back. Al told me that if they got married she and I would be related. Give her the ball and she really runs with it. One date and she’s got them tying the knot.

She’s too much.

My grandfather put his hat on. He always wears a hat, even in summer.

“Your mother’s asleep now,” he said. “I just looked in on her. If you need me, call.”

“Thanks a million,” I said. “It was very nice of you to come.”

“She’d do the same for me,” my grandfather said. He kissed me and he and Al shook hands.

When he’d gone, Al said, “Know who he reminds me of?”

“Cary Grant,” I said.

“No.” Al shook her head. “Mr. Richards.”

“Mr. Richards! You’re cuckoo,” I told her. “Mr. Richards had blue eyes and my grandfather’s are brown. Plus Mr. Richards didn’t have a cleft in his chin.”

“So what? None of that matters. Your grandfather’s a class act,” Al said, very serious, “and Mr. Richards is a class act.”

“Was” I almost said, then let it alone.

The more I thought about it, the more I knew she was right. Mr. Richards and my grandfather were alike. It was a new and strangely comforting thought.