4
Mike picked me up from work in his pea-green, two-door Corvair. He’d worked two jobs the summer before to save up for that car, and the way he pampered it, everyone knew it was his most prized possession.
“Don’t slam the door,” he said as soon as I got in on the passenger’s side.
“Golly, Mike,” I said. “Exactly how strong do you think I am?”
He smirked and revved the engine, taking off as soon as I got settled in my seat.
The drive to our grandparents’ house took us on a straight road full of hills. Mike knew every dip and bump and zipped along faster than I liked him to. There wasn’t much for me to grab hold of, so I shoved my hands under my thighs and prayed we’d get there in one piece.
“I’m not scaring you, am I?” he asked, turning to look at me.
“Just keep your eyes on the road,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Why do you get so scared?” He leaned his elbow out the open window. “Nothing’s going to happen. I’m in complete control.”
“You don’t know what’s on the other side of a hill,” I said. “There could be a fallen tree over the road or a deer. Or a person. Mike, you could hit a person!”
“Annie, you can’t live your life afraid of what might happen.”
“Who says I can’t?”
“Don’t duck and cover, pal.” He glanced at me and grinned. “You remember that?”
“How could I forget?” I asked. “I hated those drills. They gave me nightmares.”
A memory crossed my mind. Elementary school. The teacher telling us it was time for our duck and cover drill. We crawled under our desks, arms over our heads. This, we were told, would keep us safe if the nuclear bomb exploded.
“You know why they had us do that, don’t you?” He slowed for the turn into Grandpa and Grandma’s driveway. “It wasn’t so we’d be safe. It was just so we wouldn’t see what was coming.”
Grandma Jacobson met us at the front door, giving both of us a kiss on the cheek as we came in. The floor of the entryway creaked under our feet in that comfortable way old houses have. The clock in the living room tick-ticked warmly as if saying hello.
“I didn’t expect the two of you today,” she said. “Not with this weather. I thought you’d be out swimming or something.”
“And miss a visit with you?” Mike said.
“Oh, you.” She swatted at him, teasing. “I didn’t get around to making cookies.”
“You don’t have to do that for us,” I said.
“Well, I know.” She looked out the door. “Didn’t Joel come?”
“He had to work.”
“He got a job, did he?” Grandma sneezed and took tissues from her pocket. “At his age?”
“Just mowing lawns,” Mike answered. “He’s saving up for a guitar.”
“Well, I wish your mother would let us know he needs money. We could help.” She closed the door a little harder than she needed to. She’d never said the words exactly, but I knew she resented Mom. That she secretly believed she’d run Frank off. “You’ll tell Joel I say ‘hi.’ Grandpa does too.”
“Sure we will,” Mike said. “Say, how is Grandpa doing today?”
“Same as usual,” she answered. “He forgets things, you know.”
Mike nodded his head. “Grandma, I have to tell you something.”
“The draft got you?” she asked, looking up at him. “I knew it. As soon as I saw you pulling up, I knew.”
“It would have.” He licked his lips. “I enlisted. I leave on Monday for training.”
“They’ll send you, Michael,” she said. “They’ll make you go to Vietnam, you know.”
“They might.”
She nodded and cleared her throat. Her eyes were watery, the closest to crying I’d ever seen her. “Don’t try to tell your grandfather. He won’t understand.”
“I know.” Mike leaned his shoulder against the wall. “I just wanted to see him before I left.”
She shrugged and looked in the direction of the living room.
“And you,” Mike said.
“Well, you’ve seen me, then.” She half-smiled and motioned for us to follow her. “Come on and see Grandpa.”
Sunshine poured into the living room through the large windows. No matter how difficult caring for Grandpa was, Grandma kept her house tidy and free of dust. It seemed to be the one way she was able to maintain order in her life.
“Dear,” she called as we entered the room. “You have some visitors.”
My grandfather, Rockston Jacobson, sat in an easy chair clear to the other side of the room. He held a newspaper in his hand, folded up just so. He didn’t seem to be reading it, just holding it. These days he always wanted one; they served almost as a security blanket for him.
“Who’s that?” he asked, looking at us with dull, faraway eyes.
“It’s Anne and Michael,” Grandma answered, speaking louder and slower than she needed to. “Two of Frank’s kids.”
He looked between the two of us with no recognition. He shrugged and pulled the paper up in front of his face, a barrier to what confused him.
“Give him a few minutes,” she told us.
We knew. It had been that way for Grandpa for a long time. It had started with small things, like a misplaced wallet or calling Grandma by the wrong name. Over time, the troubles deepened. He got lost and threw fits and had terrifying waking nightmares that were so very real to him. It seemed to get worse all the time. All that Dr. DeVries told Grandma was that there was no cure. No treatment. That it was just one more unpleasant part of getting old.
“Hi there,” Mike said, pulling a footrest close to Grandpa’s easy chair to sit on. “How are you feeling today?”
Grandpa lowered the newspaper an inch or two and looked over it at Mike’s face. In a flash of recognition, he smiled, showing all of his teeth.
“My boy,” he said. “I didn’t know you were here. When did you get home? Your last letter didn’t say anything about this. Mabel, why didn’t you tell me Frank was home?”
“That’s not Frank,” Grandma half-yelled, shaking her head and crossing her arms. “That’s Michael, Frank’s son.”
“You’re lying,” Grandpa said, pointing his finger at her, his face reddening. “Don’t you think I’d know my own son if I saw him?”
“You’re confused. That’s Michael.” She took a step forward. “Frank hasn’t been home in years.”
“She’s trying to make a fool of me.” He looked into Mike’s eyes and reached for his hand. “I’m just glad you’re here, son. No matter what she says.”
“He won’t listen to me,” she said.
“It’s all right,” Mike said, holding Grandpa’s hand. “Maybe it’s better if we don’t argue with him.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Your mother is trying to make me think I’m losing my mind,” Grandpa said, glaring at her. “But I’m not.”
“I know it, Pop,” Mike said, using the name Frank had always used for Grandpa. “She means well.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” Grandpa hit the newspaper against his thigh. “Won’t even let a man have a drink of brandy.”
“Maybe she’s saving it for something special,” Mike said. “What do you think about that?”
“Then we should have it now.” Grandpa nodded. “My son’s come back home from war. I’d say that’s cause for celebration.”
“Sure is, Pop.” Mike patted his hand.
“You do your old man a favor,” Grandpa said, leaning his head closer to Mike’s. “Go on out and get my bottle of brandy. I still keep it in the fallout shelter out back on that shelf. You know where, don’t you?”
Mike cracked a smile. “I’m not certain I do, Pop.”
“Of course you do.” Grandpa reached out and knocked him gently on the shoulder. “Don’t you remember I caught you down there sneaking a drink just last week?”
“That’s right.” Mike’s voice was flat, like he was trying to hold back emotion. “You caught me all right, didn’t you?”
“Did that happen?” I asked Grandma, whispering.
“When your father was seventeen,” she answered. “I don’t want to talk about it. It isn’t a good memory.”
She turned and left the room, headed for the kitchen. Mike lifted his head and watched her go.
“Listen, Pop,” he said. “Let me see what I can do about that brandy. No promises, but I’ll try. How does that sound?”
“Good, my boy.” Grandpa rustled Mike’s hair. “And while you’re at it, get a haircut. You look like a doggone girl.”
Mike smiled and got up from the footrest, headed toward the kitchen. I didn’t believe he was thinking of giving Grandpa liquor. I thought he went to console Grandma.
“Can I sit with you?” I asked, taking Mike’s spot.
“I guess you can,” Grandpa answered, frowning. “I’m sorry, dear.”
“I don’t remember you.” His chin trembled. “I should know you, shouldn’t I?”
“You don’t have to feel bad.”
“But I do.” He cleared his throat. “It seems my mind isn’t what it used to be.”
“That’s all right.”
“He writes me every week, you know,” he said.
“Who’s that?”
“My son,” he answered. “Frank. Have you met him?”
“Yes.” I leaned toward him. “What does he say when he writes?”
It was Grandpa’s favorite thing to talk about, the notes home from Frank. I knew he was telling me about nothing but an old bundle of letters that Frank had sent from Korea, letters that he’d read over and over. Still, I let him talk. Nothing could soothe him like bragging about his son.
I sat and listened to stories from letters that were nearly as old as I was. If I’d tried, I could have recited each in that stack by memory for all the times Grandpa had retold them to me in the last handful of years.
It made me feel guilty, how much I wanted to get back home.