The car picks up speed, a sure sign we’ve escaped the airport. “Can I get up now?” I ask, my voice muffled.
After a long pause, Bradley finally says, “Yes.”
I sit up, rolling my shoulders. Bradley is focused on the road ahead, though he keeps glancing at the rearview mirror, like he expects the FBI to zoom up behind us.
“Where are we going? Your … house?” I hesitate, because the thought of Bradley owning a house is so weird.
“Not yet.”
Well, that’s super informative. I have a million questions, but as soon as I look out the window, I’m riveted. If I weren’t already convinced I’d traveled to another century, this would do it. The cars are so different, much sleeker and somehow shinier, like there are specks of gold or silver in the paint jobs. An Acura Integra passes us, the exact model I drooled over every time we drove past the dealership, but it looks boxy and faded compared to the other cars. I notice the cars all have wheels, so Back to the Future was wrong about us using flying cars by now. Many of the billboards are different too. I’m amazed when I see one that’s like blinds, turning vertically in dozens of strips from one scene to another. Then that’s completely eclipsed by the next billboard, an actual movie screen right out on the side of the highway, like at a drive-in but without a projector.
I press my nose against the window. “How do they do that?”
Bradley follows my pointing finger as we whiz past the movie billboard. “Uh … I don’t know? The magic of technology.”
I sink into my seat with a smirk. It’s good to know that even as an adult, my little brother doesn’t have the answers. My world isn’t entirely screwed up.
“Where are we going?” I ask again.
His brow furrows. “I’d rather wait till we get there. Let her explain.”
Thump-thump goes my heart. “Let who explain?”
He casts me a quick glance I’m unable to decipher. “We’ll be there soon.”
With our parents out of town, I can’t imagine who’s so important he’d take me there immediately, and he said “her.” “Is it Angie?”
Besides my parents or Steve, my best friend seems like a logical person to go see. Maybe she’d be able to help me make sense of this jumbled-up satire my life has become.
He shakes his head. “Not Angie.”
I’m so exhausted from this whole experience I just want to curl into a ball and hide, but I have a feeling that will be very hard to do.
My brain won’t let me rest, continuing to observe and catalog details about my surroundings. Houses don’t look that much different, but the few people I see outside do. Like the man running along the road with wires running from his ears to a device strapped to his arm. And the older woman walking her dog in skin-tight leggings with see-through panels on the sides. I realize now that what struck me about the people when I was getting off the plane was their hairstyles. Clothes-wise, except for Lilli with her lounge outfit, they were in uniforms or suits, so that wasn’t too different.
Bradley slows the car and switches on his blinker. We’re not turning onto a residential street. We’re turning in to Riverside Retirement Community. Underneath the main header, it advertises “with Assisted Living Units.”
Oh. Oh.
Grandma and Grandpa Waters live in New York. It must be Grandma Elaine. It makes the most sense; she already lived in St. Louis.
Bradley said “her,” not “them.” I’m afraid I already know what’s coming next. “Grandpa Boyd’s dead, isn’t he?”
The air thickens in the car as I wait for his answer. I welcome it. I don’t want to be comfortable receiving this sort of news.
Bradley turns toward me. “Last year. He made it to ninety-two and then …” He shrugs as if this explains it. But it doesn’t explain anything. Because Grandpa Boyd should be sixty-eight, out tinkering with his tomato plants, not buried in a cemetery. This reality sucks, and my feet itch to run as far from it as I possibly can. I’m afraid there are many more truths I don’t want to hear.
I feel wetness on my face. I didn’t notice the tears burning my eyes, but they’re coursing down my cheeks. Dear, sweet, gruff Grandpa Boyd, who taught me how to play checkers and took me out for ice cream.
“Did it hurt?”
Bradley opens his mouth and closes it, as if he’s rethinking what to say next. “He went in his sleep.”
There is more to this story, but it will not help me to know the who, what, where, when, and why of Grandpa’s death. He will still be gone.
Bradley’s gaze flicks toward the building outside my window. “Grandma’s waiting for you. Saw everything on the news. She called me while I was waiting at the airport and said if it was true to bring you here straightaway and she’d talk to you about everything.”
Suddenly he doesn’t seem so adult, bringing me to Grandma when Mom and Dad aren’t available. It helps to see he isn’t handling it all as well as he appears, but it’s also another reminder that he’s so much better at masking his emotions than he used to be.
“Let’s go in,” he says.
He’s out of the car before I can interrogate him further. Besides, seeing Grandma Elaine is more important. I gulp as I stare up at the two-story brick building. There’s a fancy overhang where cars can drive up to let out residents, but this doesn’t reassure me. All it does is reinforce the fact that Grandma Elaine is old enough she needs to be sheltered from the weather. Can she still walk, or does she have to use a wheelchair?
“Hey.” Bradley waves to get my attention. “Grandma’s in good shape for her age. Uses a walker, but that’s not unusual. Goes down to play bridge every day and gossip with her friends.”
I nod and wipe my cheeks.
When we enter, I’m pleasantly surprised by the lobby, which is nothing like the nursing homes I’ve been in before. There’s a nice floral arrangement on a pedestal. I go over to sniff it, only to discover the flowers are fake, but at least they aren’t dusty. Maybe old people can’t be around real flowers.
Bradley greets several residents as we walk through.
“You come here a lot?” I’m taking everything in, relieved it looks cheerful. It’s nothing like the sterile, impersonal environment of a nursing home, where you feel like it’s a holding place on the way to death. Riverside radiates more warmth. Most of the people we pass are smiling, and my shoulders relax, just a bit.
“We try to bring the kids every couple weeks. They like to visit.” He grins back at me as we enter a stairwell and start up. “She keeps a bowl of butterscotch candies on her end table.”
I huff a small laugh. Same old Grandma. Loves her butterscotch.
We exit on the second floor and wind down another hallway.
“Here we are.” He stops at a door and knocks twice. I look up and jump.
“She lives in apartment two thirty-seven?” I ask incredulously. That can’t be a coincidence. “Did she ask for that?”
“Yeah, I for—”
“Come in!” Grandma’s muffled voice calls, and she doesn’t sound like she’s about to keel over.
I don’t wait for Bradley. I jerk the door open so hard it slams against the wall. I don’t notice anything about the apartment. I just see Grandma standing fifteen feet ahead of me, leaning one hand on a walker. “Jenny!”
She reaches her free hand toward me, and that’s all the invitation I need. I rush forward, careful not to throw my weight on her when I wrap my arms around her. She’s not as soft as when I left, and in fact she seems a little shorter, but she smells the same, like butterscotch and hairspray. I rest my cheek against her hair, relieved it feels as firm as ever, proof she still has it styled and set every week.
Bradley is a stranger, a man instead of the boy I left behind. But Grandma is Grandma. She’s older but not transformed into a person I no longer recognize. Her hug provides the comfort I’ve been seeking since I got off the plane.
“Oh, Jenny girl, I knew you’d return to us someday. It’s why I picked this apartment, to always keep you top of mind.” Grandma steps back so she can scan me, her green eyes glistening. She smirks. “Although, your method of return is unexpected. You still know how to write a good story.”
So Grandma. When I’m too serious, she finds a way to lighten the mood. And yet I can’t ignore the absence in this room. Tears well up again. “I’m sorry about Grandpa.”
She tilts her head. “It was his time. I’m only sorry you missed him.”
She makes it sound as if he went out for coffee with his friends. I want to know more, to ask how he died and how she ended up here and, most importantly, how much time I have left with her, but she’s so happy and I don’t want to ruin that now.
“Grandma, maybe you should sit,” Bradley says.
“Bradley James,” she says, turning with her finger wagging in his direction, “I am perfectly capable of deciding when to stand and when to sit.”
I curl my lips in to hide my smile. Bradley stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Yes, ma’am. Can I get you anything?”
Grandma nods. “A glass of milk for me.” She pats her hip. “Gotta keep these bones strong. And a Coke for Jenny. Plus whatever you’d like.”
She moves to her chair, a recliner that looks much more comfortable than the chairs in the lobby. I don’t dare comment on the fact she took Bradley’s suggestion. She gestures toward the couch, and I comply. Grandma is clearly the queen of this castle. Once Bradley returns and passes out the drinks, he sits beside me.
Grandma takes a sip of her milk and sets the glass carefully on the end table. “Now, dear. Your brain must be exploding with questions. Brad was right to bring you here. Some truths aren’t mine to tell—” She holds up a hand at the protest she must see forming on my lips. “Patience, Jenny. I wish I could wave a magic wand and take us all back to 1995.” She pats her hair, which bears a striking resemblance to the cartoon fairy godmother’s. “Since I can’t, we have to figure out how to play with a pinochle deck no matter how much we want to play bridge.”
“So you’re saying there’s no use trying to figure out how to go back.” If hitting rewind were an option, I’d pick it over staying in this alternate reality where Grandma’s so old I could lose her any day.
She leans forward. “We can ask some questions, but I doubt it will lead anywhere. For twenty-five years they’ve been trying to figure out where you disappeared to. If they couldn’t make sense of it before, I doubt they will now.”
“They didn’t have the plane before.” Or my luggage. (Like they’re going to find a time machine packed with my disposable razor?)
“True,” she says thoughtfully. “But in the meantime, you need to move forward. And that’s gonna come with some bumps and bruises on your heart.”
The organ in question clenches. “What do you mean?”
She reaches for my hand, and I scoot to the edge of the couch so she doesn’t strain. “Jenny, I think you might already suspect.”
I do. God help me, I do. I know what she’s going to say. I’ve suspected it since Bradley’s breath caught over my T-shirt. My eyes are already burning again. “Grandma and Grandpa Waters?”
I picture them waving to me from the car as I walked into the airport. This morning.
“About ten years ago for your Grandpa Waters. He had a heart attack.”
Oh, no. That sounds horribly painful.
She squeezes my hand until I meet her eyes. “It was quick.”
Bradley scoots closer to me. “I didn’t know how to tell you.” His voice is choked, like he’s reliving the news with me.
“And your grandma,” Grandma continues, “three years ago. Pneumonia, unfortunately.”
Pneumonia. Isn’t that a bad sort of flu? And yet it took my grandma. My grandma who days ago walked the Columbia campus with me and made plans for Saturday morning meetups at a local diner.
“It doesn’t seem possible.” No more tears fall; maybe I’m all cried out. Or in shock.
“I love you so much, Jenny.”
And I’m undone. I crawl over to Grandma and bury my face in her lap.
She strokes my hair and hums a melody that seems familiar, but I can’t put a name to it. “Remember, Jenny, we’re here for you, no matter what else you discover that seems too much to handle.”
A voice inside urges me to ask her to explain, that voice that always demands answers, but her hand and her familiar scent are so soothing. Besides, if she’s going to tell me more people are dead, I don’t want to know.